Sherlock Memory of dreaming
by My Benediction
Summary: Set after the fall. John tries to continue with life, but his dreams and nightmares tell another story. Written through John. This will be dark. Drug refs, M/M sex later chapters, lemon. Rated M for swearing/drug use/sex.
1. Chapter 1

This is an idea that's been rattling around in my head for a while. It sort of came out of the song Angels by Within Temptation. You will see why later. I'm putting an M on it for drug use and later chapters. I'm not sure how this will follow all I know is it is not going to be fluffy. Set after the fall, John begins writing a diary as he returns to 221B.

Part one - A month after the fall.

The diary of Dr. John Watson.

I went back to work today. It had to happen at some point. I couldn't just sit and waste the rest of my life. That's what Harry told me, not that I think she's one to judge. But as she told me I'm the stronger one and that it's not as though this was the first time I had seen someone close to me.. I still can't bring myself to type the words. My therapist thinks I'm repressing it, not accepting it, but.. I just don't want to say it.

I know that Harry's right. This is not new and yet it is all so new. All I see is you with you're arms outstretched, You're coat flying behind you. You reaching for me.

I know that you would say the same. You would tell me I was being ridiculous. But then you're an idiot. Alone protects no one, I hope you see that now. I wonder sometimes if you are here, looking over my shoulder and reading as I type. Invading my personal space. I miss that.

If you are reading then you must still be alive. I don't.. can't believe in ghosts. If you are then please don't do this anymore. Just stop it now. Come back. Tell me all the things that were left unsaid between us. I might punch you though, just to warn you. But I'd avoid you're teeth if that makes you feel any better.

Sarah had this look on her face this morning. Pity I guess, but I suppose it must be hard to know how to handle me right now. I think she want's me to go out with her again. Maybe she thinks that now you're gone she might have a chance. Maybe she's right. I like Sarah, I could see us together in ten years time, 2.4 children and a mortgage. Me in slippers, her looking after me and tutting gently about my leg. It was what I always dreamt of, the thing I thought I'd miss when I lay dying in the desert. But she would know deep down that there was a dark hole inside me. An empty dead place that she would never access. In the end it would rip everything apart. I'm not sure I could put her through that. Despite everything she's a good woman and I know that she would love me, but I know that part of me can never love anything again.. unless. No. Just stop.

The flat is the same. It smells of you. I had to come back. I couldn't settle anywhere but here at the moment. Mrs. Hudson was happy to see me. She said she knew I'd come that's why she hadn't leased the flat again. I know she started to clear it but I can see the halt in the proceedings.. can see her tears where they hit the table, the salt has stained the varnish. You did this to me, I would never have noticed that before. I wouldn't have had to think about it. You stupid fucking idiot. I will go and talk to her but not tonight. If she sees me crying she will start too.. and then we will be trapped in a circle of unending tears. No, I will go when my head is clearer. When I've had time to breathe in the last traces of you, collect the final pieces of you. I will sleep in you're room tonight. Pick the stray black curls from the pillows and hold them tight in my hand and hope to never let them go. I will place them in a bottle and keep them with my dog-tags and never look at them. But I will know that they are there.

I'm going to bed very soon. I will stain you're pillows with salt as you drift around me. I can't stop the dreams but I can stop the sleeplessness, the terrible insomnia. I just cut some tabs together. Diazepam and Flunitrazepam. If you were here I'm sure you would enjoy the combination. The Flunitrazepam is too strong on it's own hence me cutting it.

I'm in your room now. I got changed and have took my dope. It smells of you in here even more than out there. I can see you're table of elements and that traffic wardens coat you acquired from somewhere. Your white sheets are cool against my skin and I'm giggling about the time at Buckingham Palace. The drugs are working, they always make me like this. I suppose I should sign off now.

I miss you..

Sherlock.


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks to Meredithriddle for review. Excellent reveiw. :)

This parts a little weird, but you'll see where I'm going later.

Part two - A month and a day after the fall.

The diary of Dr. John Watson.

Well how to begin?

I should talk about work, about my day. My therapist said that would help. But you were right. It is all so dull.

Life is dull without you.

The one thing I will tell you is that Sarah insisted she took me for lunch. It was pleasant, she wore a coral lipstick and brown eyeshadow. I noticed the way it stuck too much in the lines of her eyelids. You would say too much rouge, or maybe she was just flustered by my presence.

We went to the park, today was sunny but cold. Maybe she thought if she shivered enough I would offer to warm her up. But how can I when I am made of ice? She was faking it anyway.

I know I had a smile on my lips then. I know it was the smile I used to share secretly with you when we thought something ridiculous. I think she was trying to take my hand on the stroll back to work, her hand kept brushing mine. All I could think of was your hand, when we last ran together and how it feels so different to a woman's.

I wonder how long it will take for Sarah to give up on me again?

I collected those fragile hairs from your pillows this morning. I put them in a jar and sealed it. You must think me sentimental, you would laugh and tease me if you were here. But as you're not I will keep them. I ran them between my fingers and realized I had never touched your hair before. I imagine from the few strands left that it was soft and springy and I wonder if anyone ever ran their fingers through it.

I dreamt of you last night again, but this time was different to before. When I see you in dreams it is at the end and every time I wake up crying because I was unable to catch you. But this time you were here, in your room. You're skin as white as I remember, maybe a little more so. You look drawn, so thin. You stood at the bottom of your bed and watched me. I may have reached out for you because I remember the touch of you're fingers on mine, so cold, but indisputably you.

You just stood then, you're hand tangled in mine and watched me with those stormy eyes that I remember so well. My breath was heavy and labored as I fought to keep you in my dream, I felt as though I wanted to sleep. I remember I said you're name, it was a broken melody that sat in the hazy light and you smiled softly and stole my breath.

"John" you said, the fondness in the notes so clear and steady and needy and sad. It coated my body with it richness and lulled my heart with it's sweetness.. and them you were drifting and you're fingers left mine and you were gone.

I didn't wake up crying today. That I must suppose to be progress. Maybe I will forgo my normal dose of tabs tonight and just take the Diazepam. I will move to my old room and shut the door to yours. I have made the bed but cannot change the sheets. You are still on them.

I have an appointment with my therapist tomorrow an she will ask me if I started this. She will ask to read it and I will bite my lip and say no. I will tell her only one person would ever be allowed to read it and she will give me this look and ask who.

You know who I write this for don't you? Of course you do. This is not for me. Hardly a 'dear John' diary.

I'm going to bed now, in my own room. The flat feels cold and I'm already wondering if I can cope without the Flunitrazepam.

Sherlock, come home. I don't want to feel this anymore. Please.


	3. Chapter 3

Thankyou to everyone who faved this and has commented, means a lot.

Meredithriddle - I'm glad you are enjoying, thanks for you're review. This is very different work for me and you're comments help. :)

TSylvestrisA - You are a star. ^_^

Part three - Five weeks after the fall.

The diary of Dr. John Watson.

Well I tried. I went a five days without the Flunitrazepam, but the nightmares have returned. I cannot spend the rest of my life seeing you like that. The blood on the pavement, running through your hair, discoloring your beautiful curls. I will not spend my nights in fear again. First the war and now this. It is too much. So last night I cut together some tabs and hoped for the best. I went to my room, but somehow last night I needed you with me.

Your room smells musty now, I haven't been in here for nearly a week, but your scent remains. If I do this too often it will fade. The scent will mingle with mine and eventually it will just smell of John Watson. I must be careful.

I drifted in and out of dreams, lucid and frightening until you came and then it was fine. I remember glancing at the clock, it was around 2 am, and at first I really thought you were there.

You smiled sadly as you sauntered towards me and you said my name without prompt. I found then I couldn't move, my body would not work. I felt my hands try and claw the bed but nothing happened. You settled at my side and watched me in my struggles. Then you reached out and touched my face gently, caressed my jaw and hushed me out of my panic. And then our eyes watched each other. I believe I managed you're name because you lay a finger briefly against my lips and breathed for me to be silent. And then you lay down next to me, your face close to mine, your breath on my neck and you hummed a melody I remember you playing once whilst stroking my hand with your fingertips. I do not remember the rest. It was as if you lulled me into sleep again. When I woke this morning I swear I could smell cigarettes.

If it was you and you come here again please please just tell me. You will have cracked my password without a seconds thought and so I know that you will read this.

Mrs. Hudson misses you so much. She pretends to enjoy the peace but I almost think she has lost a son. She is the only one who understands the loss the same as I, she loved you. She still does.

Lestrade visited me three days ago. He was glad to see me back here again. He gave me your phone, you left it on the roof. You sent a text, he told me, it was the last text you sent - and for now I cannot forgive you for it.

He said that Donovan sent her best wishes, God, is this how it will be now? She doesn't do it out of anything but spite. She pity's me for ever having met you, but then she will never know how it was to run with you. I pity her blindness and hope to God Lestrade never lets her darken this door.

Apparently I still have a court case to attend, something about hitting a senior police officer. I started laughing then, it is all so ridiculous. I will probably end up in contempt of court you know. If they say what I think they might say.. about you.. then I may not be able to restrain myself. Between the laughing I told Lestrade as much. He looked at me very sternly and said that he would be a character witness and he hopes this will all be settled as quietly as possible. I don't believe him. He will try I am sure, but the press are still out for blood and I seem like a worthy follow up to the big story of the year.

Sarah took me for a drink after work today. She was quiet and that made it all the more difficult. At least when she talks I don't have to. I must have drifted away from her because I jumped when she placed her hand lightly on mine. She asked me to talk to her, that bottling up all my feelings was not good for me, that I needed someone. I held her gaze for a long moment, saw the hope spark and then I pulled back. Pulled my hand away as if she had burned me and watched her eyes dull.

"You will never understand." I told her and I know there was anger in my voice "because no-one understood him and so therefore no-one can understand me." I stood and turned and she called after me, but I can't be doing with this. With her. She doesn't see me.

I am going to bed now. I have upped the dose of Flunitrazepam, it helps more than I can tell you. I can feel it kicking in. I am in my room tonight in case you were wondering. My bed is warm and I cannot see straight anymore.

That works.

Goodnight Sherlock.


	4. Chapter 4

Part Four - Five weeks and one day after the fall.

The diary of Dr. John Watson.

Ah Sherlock.. last night I thought I heard your violin. I was sleeping, I must have been. Either that or I'm going mad.

I hoped for you to come last night. I don't care anymore, if it is a dream then let it be so, if it is your ghost then let it be so, if it is you.. well, please. Just please. Just come to me and hold me against you and let me cry against you until I can cry no more and I have drenched your bloody ridiculous coat with my tears. Let me choke out my anger and drum my fists against your arms and back until I am weak and broken and sated. Let me curve my hands around your neck, and curl my fingers in that soft sooty hair and pull at it in my grief until you too have tears in your eyes and you are sobbing my name out as I sob yours.

Christ.

I overslept this morning. Upping the dose of the Flunitrazepam was not the best idea. I rang Sarah, she didn't sound impressed but declared she understood. That sharp tone was in her voice, the one she used to use when you dragged me away from work, but beneath that I could hear her concern. At least I have no work tomorrow and I can't see Sarah calling me in. Maybe I'll just sleep, the weekends are dull without you. Or maybe I'll go and find a fight, dive in, taste the blood and the pain and the glorious buzz.

But it wouldn't be the same without you.

I understand you better now, it's strange. I understand the boredom, the silence, the whirring of a brain with nothing to do but run over and over the same things and having nothing to distract it. I understand why you used to smash up the flat in a rage, sulk for days, take out your frustration on me and I understand why you used your 'sweet drug'. I understand because right now I would do anything to stop thinking.

I have your violin on my lap here. I remember you plucking the strings absently, frustratedly, beautifully. I remember you making it sing. It is old isn't it? Very old. I wonder now about it's history. I'm sure when you looked at it you could read every scratch, every indentation of the wood. You could see where it was made, when it was made. I'm sure you could see the craft-mans name and whether the people who played it before you were accomplished or not. Hell, you could probably give me their names. And yet as it sits here upon me with its history etched out all I see on it is you. Your clever fingers stroking the strings, you scratching your bow across it in frustration, you playing me a melody when you were feeling particularly amicable.

I'm sorry, my tears have stained the wood, I didn't mean that to happen. God, these moments must become less surely? I have added to it's history, not that there is anyone left that cares. Who knows in a hundred years maybe someone will.

I am going to light a fire now, the room is getting chilly. This rain it never stops. It hasn't stopped in five weeks. It feels like the sky is weeping. Maybe it weeps for you. I'll see whats on TV, warm my feet and place my hand on the arm of your chair. If I'm lucky I will fall asleep. If I'm very lucky I will dream of you.

Later Sherlock.


	5. Chapter 5

Part Five - Five weeks and two days after the fall.

You were here last night. I have no doubt of that in my mind. I feel almost elated. Your smell is in the flat again not just in your room, you have been here. I smell the tobacco. You've been smoking again.

I fell asleep on the sofa last night. I must have cut something together because there are traces on the table. I can't recall doing it but Flunitrazepam does tend to affect the short term memory so I'm not overly concerned. I remember waking though around 3am. The fire had died and the room was dark. The only light was from the window, the orange street lights flooding in. I could hear the rain thundering against the pane and the quick beating of my heart. I was not alone.

My solders instincts kicked in and I remained calm and kept very still, listening and watching and waiting. Eventually you moved.

"John." That baritone told me it was you, but I reacted, I was afraid. I remember shooting off the sofa and grabbing you. You were there, oh God you were there. Your skin felt warm as I grabbed your throat and pushed you against your own bedroom door. I saw the surprise flash in your eyes as you thudded against the wood. We were both panting, my adrynilyn buzzing as I took you in. Your eyes seemed a little older, your skin a little whiter. Your hair curled in damp ringlets against your face.

"Sherlock?" I remember gasping out your name. You didn't struggle beneath my grip, made no attempt to escape, you just looked at me sadly with those bright intelligent eyes that I'd thought I'd lost and nodded.

I fell back then, shock hit my system. I honestly felt as though I had been shot again. You grabbed my wrist to steady me. I remember trying to shrug you off but you were having none of it. You pulled me against you, into you so that we were chest to chest and your long fingers sought the back of my neck and you pulled me into your shoulder and held me tightly.

"Fuck.. fuck, fuck, fuck" I whispered into your coat that smelled so good, of the rain, the fog, chemicals and blood and smoke and you. You put your chin was on my shoulder and you rocked me gently. I heard my name, a whispered moan on your lips. And then came the tears and the anger as I gripped your thin frame to me and sobbed against you. My fingers found your neck and I gripped you hard just below your nape. I clawed into the soft skin there, I punched your shoulder with my free arm over and over until I was to exhausted to move again and then I just clung to you, panting and sobbing out dry injured breaths. You held me for a long time, never making a sound.

It's all a bit a hazy after that. You may have kissed my forehead. I remember being helped back across the living room, I remember being settled in my bed and I remember the words 'wait for me'.

And so it is that I woke up in my bed. I wondered if maybe I had a dream again but it was so real. God, let it be real.

I will wait for you Sherlock, of course I will, but please... Don't let me go on like this. I fear I am going mad.


	6. Chapter 6

The daily Emo has arrived.. a little late today.

Part 6 - Five weeks and four days after the fall.

The diary of Dr. John Watson.

Saw my therapist today. She said she could see marked progress in my mood. I didn't like to tell her why, so I just let her think she was doing some good. She still wants me to say it.. wants me to say your gone.. but we both know thats not true.

I found it by the way. The damned primed needle. You swore to me that you'd got rid of all of it. It was last night. I was so annoyed I found I couldn't write a word. The chimmny has been smoking you see, thought maybe there was a dead bird up there or an experiment you'd forgotten about, so I set about having a look. It was a dead bird, a fucking fat pidgin, christ knows how it got up there.. or down there. In fact thinking about it you probably put it there, but thats beside the point I am attempting very badly to make.

There is a little shelf it seems just above the opening in the chimney breast on the outside wall, an alcove. I wouldn't have seen it had I not got my head pretty much in the back of the grate and the only reason I saw it then was because the glass reflected at the right or maybe the wrong moment. I reached out and felt the cold glass in my hand an knew straight away what it was.

You idiot. Why must you lie to me? I know that'd I'd have tried to have taken it off you but surely after everything we have done together you could trust me enough to help you.

Anyway it's still in the flat. I don't know what to do with it. A really stupid part of me wants to keep it, put it back where I found it until you come home and I can berate you properly. The other part tells me I should phone Lestrade and get it out of here as soon as possible. Still, there's probably more laying around. The flats probably full of false draws and bolt holes.

I've come off the sleepers by the way. Well.. I say come off, I'm trying to come off them. They are almost as addictive as your sever per cent and if I'm honest if you come back here again I want to be awake enough to know it's you this time.

I dreamt of you last night. This time I'm fairly certain that it was a dream.. unless there's something you've not been telling me? Or maybe that should be the other way round.

I woke up shaking, sweating and remembering you calling my name. Actually calling is not the right word.. I blush as I write this.. but you were moaning my name.

Ah Sherlock.

That damn needle is looking at me. It's on the desk and I'm in my chair. I remember studying the effects of cocaine at med school. One day I'll get you to tell me what it is really like. Knowing you you'd probably talk me into trying it.. you know.. as an experiment! And knowing me with you I'd probably be fool enough to take it.

I could never say no to you.

Okay, going to try and sleep. I'm taking your room tonight, I hope you don't mind. It comforts me to smell you all around me and somehow your bed is warmer than mine.

Night Sherlock.

Later.


	7. Chapter 7

Okay, things get a bit sexy in this. Quite a lot of swearing. You are warned.

Thanks must go to TSylvestrisA who has been so brilliant and sends me lovely reviews.

Thanks to Power0girl too for her lovely comments and everyone who has faved/followed or commented.

I am busy busy at the moment as I have an exam this weekend and am writing three stories but I hope to keep updating this daily.

John is drunk in this part, so I hope I wrote him well in that state. He probably wouldn't have been as eloquent but I hate bad spelling and grammar. :)

Part 7 - Five weeks and five days after the fall.

Hello.

I'm a bit drunk. Actually a bit might be an understatement. Some of my old buddies from my army days came over without warning. I kinda wonder y'know if your damned brother engineered it in some way... Y'know? He's a twat Sherlock. I know he's your brother but God he's put me through some shit just for knowing you. Think he thinks I'm your boyfriend.

Boyfriend! That's a laugh, I'm hardy a fucking boy am I?

So anyway it's like nearly midnight and I thought I'd better do this. Have so many feelings running through me Sherlock. Why the fuck aren't you here? You should be here to say something disparaging. Then you'd make me drink water and give me aspirin, dissect my evening in that arrogant way and leave me in my chair to sleep. Then you'd make me coffee in the morning. See you did care.

So the lads tried to cheer me up, talked of the 'good old days'. It helped y'know..? But then they mentioned you and I just clammed up. Had to go home. I don't need their opinions. The world can go and fuck itself because when I'm with you that's all that matters.

I didn't take sleepers last night. Thought you might come but in the end I fell asleep. I dreamt of you. Ah fuck it... I dreamt of you with me, and I don't mean in the sense of how we were. It's not like it's the first time really. I had dreams like this before. I should feel weird writing this to you but I don't. Probably the drink.

I was in your bed Sherlock.. and in my dream you were in your bed too. With me. You were kissing me and I was kissing you back and thats not weird at all is it? Why would I dream of that.. but that's not all. We were undressed and snogging like our lives depended on it. Your skin smelt amazing. It was so soft and warm as I held you against me and I could feel your cock rubbing against mine.. and you know what.. that was fine. Even when I woke I wasn't bothered by that, it felt right. I know it was just a dream but God... Sherlock you were so hot. Your hands in my hair tugging at it, your eyes looking deep into mine as you did incredible things to me. You kissing my throat and tearing at my skin with your teeth and me arching beneath you. God I wanted you. I wanted you in me. I WANTED you in ME! I'm fucking straight but there I was begging you to put your fucking huge cock in my arse and then you did. I've never been shagged up the arse but my imagination obviously has some ideas about what it would feel like. I was shaking and sweating as you rode me, you body over mine thrusting hard. I was screaming for you to fuck me harder, to hurt me, to come inside me. You started stroking my cock and I was coming hard, pumping my load into your hand, my hands in your hair and you buried your face in my shoulder as your shouted out your release against me. And then the image drifted away.

I woke up in your bed with a fucking huge hard on and the first thing I wished for was your fucking ridiculously sexy mouth to be wrapped around it. It was then I realized just how much I have noticed your mouth. It's insane that mouth. So beautiful. I.. me.. I'm calling you beautiful.

'Cos you are you know what? You are beautiful and there is no other word for it.

I should probably delete the above but I don't want to forget that dream.

I miss you.

Maybe I'll delete it tomorrow when I'm more sober, because right now I can't bring myself to care if you read it. In fact I want you to read it 'cos what if you feel the same?

Ah, I'm going to bed now. Just drinking some water and taking the aspirin that was in the kitchen. That fucking needles still here, still can't decide what to do about that.

Shit.

Okay, night Sherlock. Come home soon.


	8. Chapter 8

Part 8 - Five weeks and six days after the fall.

The diary of Dr. John Watson.

Shit. I was drunk last night or I wouldn't have written all of that. If you read it please just ignore me. I'm an idiot, you know that. It's just a symptom of you not being here.

Ah, who am I kidding? Myself I hope. Too late to kid you now right? What's written is written. I've deleted the entry, but you'll have seen it. I know your reading over my shoulder. Even if you haven't seen it yet it can never irrevocably be removed from the hard-drive and I'm pretty sure you'll know how to get the information out of my bloody laptop. It's not like I can ask Lestrade to get the police to secure wipe it. Can you imagine the reaction at the yard when they found what it was I was attempting to get wiped?

I saw Molly today. She's been avoiding me I swear. I haven't seen her since... since the funeral. I went to Barts, Mike had asked me to do a favor and look at some tissue samples for him. Right up your street really, they were repulsive. Anyway Molly came into the lab, I saw her glance my way and then she sort of ducked a little as if that would stop me from noticing her, so I called to her. She smiled a little and hesitated as if deciding whether or not to just make a run for it but I was already across the lab.

"Molly?" I asked her.

"Hi John" her voice betrayed her nervousness and I saw her swallow something back as her eyes finally met my face, avoiding my eyes as much as she could. We exchanged the general pleasantries, how are you, what you been up to.. etc, but she wouldn't meet my eye. She looks thin now, she's lost a lot of weight since I last saw her, an unhealthy amount. Her skin is pale, she's not doing her make-up as well as she was, an her eyes are tired. We talked for a few moments, it was stilted and jerky, until finally the conversation turned to you.

"How are you feeling about.. y'know Sherlock?" I knew she didn't want to ask. I didn't really want to answer at first. Finally I just said fine. That everything was fine. She must have seen the stiffness in me, her lip trembled a little. There was an uncomfortable silence and then I saw the tears come up into her downcast eyes. My stupid need to comfort others still won't leave me and without thinking I instinctively took her hand in mine.

I'm trying to decide if that was a mistake because it made her look up and her eyes told me things I'm not sure I wanted to know, because now I do I don't know where it will lead me.

Mollys eyes were wracked with guilt, it was no wonder she didn't want to look at me. It was only for a split second before she looked away again but it was enough. She knows something. I dropped her hand just as suddenly as I had taken it and she blinked fast. She blinked back tears. After that the conversation seemed to stop dead between us, the air thickened and she excused herself.

"I'm sorry John" she whispered almost frantically and she scurried away. I turned to follow her path out of the room and I saw her worried look as she glanced back at me over her shoulder.

I went home after that, my mind was buzzing. I made tea and began this. I have run this over and over in my mind all afternoon trying to employ all I learnt, all I observed, of your techniques. Something here does not add up.

Now I have to decide what to do. Molly is a good, sweet girl, but the thing about good, sweet girls is that they can't hide themselves very well. Molly cannot hide what is inside her and I think that something has something to do with you Sherlock. I cannot believe anything bad of the girl.. even though she did date that bastard Moriarty that was not her fault, he played her, so what is it she is trying to stop me from seeing Sherlock?

I think Sherlock, that it might be you, and now I have to decide what I'm going to do about that.


	9. Chapter 9

Hi all. Sorry this part is shorter and somewhat late. I'm training for a dance exam atm (which is tomorrow FYI). I thought It was time John got on with it, then the idea below suddenly sprang forth. This story writes itself.

Part 9 - Six weeks after the fall.

The diary of Dr. John Watson.

Barely slept last night. I needed to decide what it was I was intending to do about Molly.. about you. I paced the floor for much of it, must have worn the carpet thin. Remember you doing exactly the same thing. Around three in the morning I found myself absently plucking at your violin, I am picking up your traits. This is good because it means I am focusing on how you think.

"It's a trick - just a magic trick". Your words and now I look again I think you were telling me something other than the lie that you had been forced to say. Six weeks it's taken me. God Sherlock. I have known from the outset that you could not be dead, but I can't believe I missed that for such a long time. I have run that conversation over and over in my head so many times and last night I ran it again and managed to detach my emotions somehow. I was looking for clues, trying to get inside your damned head and then I saw it and it was as clear as day.

You being dead, it's a trick. A magic trick. Like you.. YOU would waste your life for a sick cunt like Moriarty. I don't know what it was he threatened you with Sherlock but he's dead now. He's dead and gone forever. What is it your afraid of?

I would command you to come home, I would write in my best captain's voice (Don't think I haven't noticed the way you get when I do that) but I don't think it would do any good. You are staying away because there is danger.. hell there's always danger, but this is something different.

A magic trick... how you pulled it off I don't know yet, but damn it I'm going to find out.

Molly is the starting point I believe and tomorrow I am going to go and see her. I am going to employ your own dubious methods on this one. I will tell her that I need someone to talk to, someone that knew you and didn't judge you. Then I'll take her for lunch, chat, have coffee and then at the correct moment I will turn on the water-works the way you used to. I will manipulate her in to telling me what she knows. It is probably very little but it will be a starting point and from there I will follow the trail back I swear.

And I swear to you now Sherlock Holmes that when I know what happened.. what really happened, what you did, I will track you down. I will hunt you to the ends of the earth.

Maybe that's what you've been waiting for, maybe this is my test.

Well I accept. Today Sherlock the game you set up is about to gain an extra player and I promise you this time I John Watson will win.

Later Sherlock.

John.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10 - Six weeks and one day after the fall.

The diary of Dr. John Watson.

You bastard. You total and utter bastard. I know now. You lying, idiotic, sociopathic... Do you know what you do to me?

I am crying as I write this. I am crying angry tears of utter and total fucking relief. You are alive just as I always knew you were. I am so angry with you. Why oh why could you not tell me? Had I not done enough to earn your respect.. your friendship? Your my world.. my total fucking world and you blew it apart. You ripped the world out from under me and left me hanging.

Oh God Sherlock. Sherlock.

I saw Molly. You may have already deduced that.

Molly, the nice, sweet, innocent girl that has a crush on you. No wonder she looked so drawn, so pale and stressed and guilty.

I rang her. She was better on the phone with me than face to face. Until I asked her to lunch. I heard her trying to find a way out of it, but maybe that broken voice I put on helped her on her way to saying yes. She cares. Cares too much. Something you are not able to comprehend it seems. Caring.

I met her at twelve thirty in the speedys. She looked nervous as she walked in through the door, pushing her rain dampened hair from her eyes. Those eyes caught mine and the guilt I saw flashing before flashed again as she took me in.

We ordered coffee and I went for small-talk for a while. Let the girl settle, because when she first walked in she was jumpy and unsettled. I could almost see her looking for an exit. She did settle until I bought you up.

"Do you miss him Molly?" I asked suddenly. I saw her jump inwardly. Her eyes flashed up from her coffee and her brow crinkled.

"Of course I do John." was the almost whispered answer. Her eyes met mine, I could see her struggle inwardly. The fight that she had obviously played out in her head over and over again. "How are you coping without him?" she asked though I could tell that she didn't want to say the words. I swallowed deliberately, pretending to choke back the tears that had yet to prickle my eyes.

"It's hard." I replied "Sometimes I think he's there, watching me. I feel like I have seen him, I dream of him.. It's weird.. maybe.." I paused and allowed a tear to fall "maybe he's not.. dead?"

That was the first time I have allowed myself to say the word 'dead' in connection to you.

Molly blinked and frowned deeper. A flush crept into her cheeks.

"W.. what do you mean not dead John? You saw it.. you saw what happened.. he fell.. he.." tears pricked her eyes suddenly as the nervous words ceased and the guilt in her eyes leapt forward.

"Molly.." I said softly "I know you saw him.. at the end.." I shed another tear 'You did the death certificate right..?" Molly swallowed hard and nodded "Molly.." I fixed my eyes on her "I don't believe it was him." I saw the girls eyes widen slightly and i'll give her her due she did a good job acting innocent considering. I leaned forward towards her and grasped her wrist in my hand, counting her pulse, it had quickened. "Molly.." I continued "..I don't believe that you ever saw him laying on a slab dead. I don't believe he's in the ground."

"John.. I.." she tried, her pulse was racing madly.

"Don't lie to me Molly." I begged. Her eyes met mine, so open and almost innocent, and as another tear fell from mine she fell apart.

She told me everything Sherlock.. everything she knew. The body beneath that stone with your name on is not you, it was provided by a source unknown to her. I have a damned good idea where that may have come from then. That could well be my next stop. She signed it off as you, signed the death certificate. She then told me you were there. YOU WERE THERE. God.

As for the rest she had no idea how you pulled it off, after she had completed her part she said you left and that from that point she had lived with the guilt, that was why she had avoided me. She couldn't stand the sight of my sad face, my tired eyes, my despair.

I think I sat there in a trance for well over ten minutes, my hand still clutching her wrist. Finally she shook me out of it. I asked her why you had done it. She told me she didn't know, but that you had come to her a few hours before the fall and had told her that you thought you were going to die and that you needed her. She told me you were emotional and she told me that she thought that you were trying to save me from pain.

That gives me some comfort I suppose, but I tell you now am in pain.. more than you can imagine. She left after that, her hurried goodbyes falling on deaf ears as I returned to an almost comatose state before her.

I watched her hurry to the door and then saw her pause. She turned back to the table, her eyes catching mine. She bit her lip and then gave a sad little smile.

The last words she said I heard Sherlock, and as I write this I feel my heart soften despite my anger right now.

The last words she said...

"He did it for you John. He loved you."


	11. Chapter 11

I can only say many thanks to TSylvestrisA. You are a star.

Chapter 10 - Six weeks and two days after the fall.

The diary of Dr. John Watson.

I dreamt of you last night and this time I feel no guilt or shame about that. I never really thought you were gone but a tiny part of me did. Dreaming of you was a guilty pleasure long before your staged death and after it felt... sordid, that little voice whispering that it was wrong to dream of the dead in the way I did.

But now it doesn't matter because you are alive and any reservations I may have had once are vanishing with each passing day. I cannot tell you that I have no gay tendencies anymore because a straight man would not dream as I dream.. especially not this often. I am a doctor and I have to look at myself from an objective view point. If another man told me they dreamed on a regular basis of their male flat-mate and friend then I would suggest they might want to have another look inside them.

This morning I did just that. I already knew I think, but I couldn't admit my own nature.. and I'm not saying I'm gay because I have obviously fancied women but.. I need to say this.

I, John Watson fancy you, Sherlock Holmes.

There I said it. If you are reading this I'm sure it will come as no shock revelation to you, I am surprised you never said anything to be honest. But this needed to be said here and now before I talk myself out of it. I... I wanted to tell you.. there was so much I wanted to tell you after you'd gone. Lets start with that. Maybe after you return and maybe after I've beaten you into a pleading mess on our sitting room floor we'll have tea and discuss the rest then.

But then perhaps you were struggling with your own inner self all along. You once told me you were married to your work, a fact I do not dispute, but you let me into that marriage Sherlock... you pulled me away from anyone I tried to get close to.. how many times did a girlfriend.. or ex-girlfriend tell me that there was no room for her in my life because you were in it. You hated me dating.

From what Molly told me yesterday you do care for me, probably more than you allow yourself to know, but then who knows what goes on beneath that hide of yours.

"He did it for you John, he loved you."

Maybe Molly put a romantic spin on it, but I believe her when she said that you did all of this shit for me. Part of me worries that if I come after you that I will ruin whatever it is you need to be dead for, but part of me longs to think that you would want me to come after you because thats what I do Sherlock.. I follow you. I'd follow you into hell.

But for now I will bide my time, work this out slowly. I would appreciate a clue or two along the way, you know how my funny little brain is, it might need a push or two.

I left a very public message on my blog earlier to your brother, I expect a car tomorrow morning. He is the next step forward I deduce.

As for the rest I will pretend that nothing has changed. My therapist is doing wonders for me it seems.

Sherlock, I wonder, do you miss me like I do you? Me making you tea and grumbling at you to eat and sleep. I never thought I'd miss you scraping that damned violin... Damn.

That was how my dream began last night.. you were playing for me, your shirt off, the moon casting shadows across your torso and face as you gazed out the window. You turned as you completed the melody and the fire in your eyes was enough to devour me whole. I wanted you and I had you. I had you hard over the end of the sofa, you calling my name out to the night as I reamed you hard and fast. It makes me shiver to think of you like that and I'm sorry if it disturbs you at all. But remember this is my diary, it is you who is trespassing.

Right I must go to bed and hope for you to grace me with your presence. My dreams are my salvation without you here.

Goodnight Sherlock.. wherever you are, be careful.

JW.


	12. Chapter 12

Hello.

Sorry this has taken me so long, had a writing crisis and needed a break. Things are getting back to normal now I hope.

Thankyou to everyone that has faved/added/commented. You're all brilliant.

My special thanks to TSylvestrisA who is beta to this story. She keeps me on track and is brilliant. x

Chapter eleven - Six weeks and three days after the fall.

The diary of Dr. John Watson.

I was meant to go to the clinic today. I showered and dressed as if I intended to but I knew I would never end up there. I was expecting your brother, my blog has been temporarily removed from the public domain. I left the flat at eight-thirty, it took all of a minute for Mycroft's car to show up. I stepped in expecting Anthea and her mobile but instead was surprised to see the queen himself sat there waiting for me. Mycroft gave me an insincere smile.

"John," he droned ,"how are you? Updating your blog again, I see." I ignored him and settled back on the seats as the car pulled away from 221B.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"Well," your brother continued, "that very much depends on you, John. Where are you going?" He fixed me with a cold look and a half-smile sat threateningly on his face. I drew myself up.

"Mycroft, you and I have a common interest, namely, your brother."

"My brother is dead, John." I flinched at your brother's cold bored tone and then prickled.

"Really, Mycroft?" His eyes flickered for just a moment, almost not enough to notice but I noticed. I noticed because you taught me to notice.

"Yes, John. I do not expect you to put up such phrases as..." he paused and pulled out a slip of paper from his jacket "One man, Mycroft Holmes - running the government, running the MOD, running the country, running your lives..." he trailed off and raised an eyebrow. "Do you know what kind of damage you could do, John?" I smiled

"Yes, Mycroft, yes I do." Your brother's eyes flickered again.

"Blackmail, John? Hardly your style." I stared him down.

"I don't have your brother here now, Mycroft," I replied. My voice was very low. "My better part left with him." Mycroft laughed humorlessly.

"Oh John, you aren't honestly suggesting that Sherlock-"

"-made me a better person." I finished for him. He blinked then.

"God knows what Mummy would think," he murmured and then fixed me with a glare. "All right then, John, what is that you want? I assume you 'posted' that entry to get my attention?" I took a deep breath.

"Right, then, let's cut to the chase. Your brother...your brother Sherlock Holmes...he...he is alive."

Mycroft didn't flinch. He didn't move.

"John," he said as if speaking to a small child he was very bored with, "I know you have been struggling without..." his eyes flickered shut, "Sherlock, but you realize how utterly mad that sounds. My suggestion, John, would be-" I gripped his arm suddenly and forcefully.

"You are a sodding liar, Mycroft," I hissed. His eyes widened.

"John?" There was uncertainty in his tone, finally. I gripped him harder and he glanced down at my hand, a little disconcertion crossing his face. I saw the driver shift his position in the front of the car, glancing into the rearview mirror and slowing the car engine, poised to 'remove me' if necessary. Mycroft gave a quick shake of his head and the man in the front relaxed, the car continued at it's previous pace. I glared at your brother.

"I know the truth ,Mycroft. I know that body under the ground is not Sherlock!" My anger spilled forth and I heard my voice rise. "I know because I was told. I know what happened and I think you do too! You fucking knew, Mycroft, and you're going to tell me all you know, now!" I released him violently. He flinched but recovered quickly, smoothing his sleeve. There was an uncomfortable silence. "Prove me wrong," I almost whispered, "exhume the body and take a DNA sample. Prove to me that it is Sherlock." Mycroft's eyes met mine.

"John." His voice broke and he quickly cleared his throat "I don't need to do that and I would suggest you keep your personal issues to yourself." I closed my eyes, took a steadying breath.

"Tell me, please." I said flatly. I was begging, I knew. Humiliating, but I would rather feel that and know what was going on than have my pride and not know. Mycroft gave a sigh of long suffering.

"There is nothing I wish to say." I felt the anger inside me spread at his words. I lurched forward again and took him by the shoulders hard. Our eyes locked, his as impassive as ever.

"Okay," I growled, "what if I go to the courts, make a request to get that body dug up?" Mycroft made an amused noise. I gripped his shoulders tighter. "Or maybe I'll go to the press. I know they're still very interested in this case." Mycroft's eyes flickered slightly and then he sighed.

"If my brother is alive...wouldn't that make things more awkward for him?" he said evenly. I shut my eyes and counted to ten, allowing Mycroft to slip from my hands. He had me there. I felt tears well up and, horribly, one slide down my face.

"Oh, God, John. You're a soldier, please let's not have a scene," Mycroft said impatiently.

I laughed a little then, holding back my tears. I drew away from your brother slowly and opened my eyes again. Mycroft was looking at me oddly and then he said very quietly,

"John, my brother 'died' for a reason. Do not question what that reason is." I opened my mouth to tell him again that you're not dead but then I heard the emphasis on 'died'. My breath left my body. He knows. The car pulled up then, outside 221B, Mycroft's eyes meeting mine.

"Are you...are you saying that I should just...leave this, be-because if I don't, then...? That Sherlock needs to make everyone believe that he's...dead?" Your brother smiled coldly.

"I believe, Doctor Watson, our conversation is at an end," he said. "Please step out the car." I shook my head in disbelief. Your brother is out of this world. I can see why you get so damned frustrated with him now. I stepped from the car in stony silence.

"I'll be seeing you, Doctor Watson," Mycroft said to my back. "My brother's defender." I turned back and just for a second I saw, despite the sarcasm in his voice, the fondness in his face, but he slipped his mask back on quickly. I stood for a moment between the car door and the path. My eyes narrowed.

One last thing," I said. "Moriarty...he...he is dead ,isn't he?" Mycroft looked at me for a long moment.

"The spider may be dead, Doctor Watson, but the eggs that it laid will eventually hatch." With that statement he reached over to the door and pulled it shut ,and then the car was gone, leaving me outside our home, as disconcerted as ever I could be.

I eventually made my legs walk to the door and up the stairs into the flat. I sat for a long time just staring at your chair. Now I'm sitting here just writing, trying to piece this together. Mycroft said you died for a reason. Molly said it was for me. Maybe something threatened me? Did you do this for me? Oh God, Sherlock, you are a complete and total idiot if that is the case.

If it is for that reason, then you did something not because it was logical, but because you cared. It bothers me to think of you alone with such thoughts, feelings you have always insisted were alien to you. I wish I was near you now. I wish more than ever right now that I could touch you. Not in that way, if you are worried, because that doesn't matter, I would have you anyway. My previous declaration does not change our friendship. Or maybe it does. I don't know anymore.

I am tired, so tired. My emotions are getting the better of me and I'm crying. I'm sorry, Sherlock, but that's just how it is. I wish more than anything right now to wrap you up under my duvet and just hold you. I wish that so much.

I'm an idiot.

Goodnight ,Sherlock.

JW.

(new entry) 3.30am.

CHANGES COMING. SH.


	13. Chapter 13

First I must just say thank you to my lovely beta on this story TSylvestrisA. She is brilliant.

Second, sorry this has taken so long. I've had to slow down a little on this story due to work and other things. Thank you to everyone who has faved, added and commented. I love your comments and try my best to reply to anyone who does so. :)

Onwards!

Chapter 12 - Six weeks and four days after the fall.

The diary of Dr. John Watson.

Well I'm feeling slightly dazed as things stand. It's just coming up to midnight and I sat down nearly two hours ago in order to write up my thoughts. I've spent two hours just staring at the screen.

You bastard, how could you come here and not tell me. You must have been here. There is no other way that entry could have got there. This is my personal diary, I knew you were reading it. I knew it.

So now we come to the question of what the hell it means. Or maybe you're just trying to drive me out of my mind. Maybe you're trying to make me as crazy as you. You infuriating ridiculous man what the bloody hell are you doing?

Do you KNOW what it is you are doing to me? Is this just some kind of game? Maybe you think it's a kindness. I spent the last two hours trying to get into your mind and knowing you.. Ah fuck Sherlock. Why not just come to me? Why not just tell me? Why couldn't you have just come to my room and woken me and told me?

I am going to punch your lights out when I see you I swear. I am having a very bad day and I will not forget about it.

So.. changes coming? Are you coming home? Is that the change? God, I swear there will be changes if that happens. For starters I will be setting some new ground rules, the first is that if you EVER pull this shit again I will never forgive you. I can take a lot Sherlock but this.. this has.. is breaking me. You mean everything to me. It has been worse than Afghanistan. I lost so many mates. Saw so many men fall. I remember stitching up their wounds, removing the bullets, clearing the blood. I did surgery without resources or staff and I saved people and I lost people. But at least when I lost them I knew that I had tried. I had done the best I could for them. With you I felt helpless. I couldn't save you, couldn't catch you, I couldn't sew you up.. try and and fix you. Hell they wouldn't even let me see you. That was the worst... well apart from all the things that I never got to say to you.

Okay, I've calmed down a little now. I am angry still, my eyes are stinging with it, I feel both anger and joy. It's a strange combination. I don't suppose you have ever experienced that. You and your stupidly logical illogical brain.

Illogical you ask? Think about it. I'm sure you thought that whatever you were doing would spare me pain, but it hasn't. To be honest with you I'd rather take my chances in life than suffer this. It has been a kind of half life. You killed me Sherlock. When you found me I was lost, alone.. so damned alone and then you were there. You made me more than what I was, you ran with me through the fields of blood, the chaos of the world and you improved me. You made me want to be a better man. I guess I never thought that through until I thought I'd lost you. You don't know what you've got 'til it's gone and all that. When you died I died with you. If I could choose a way to die it would be to die beside you. Running with you, saving you.. I will never ever get the image of you falling out of my head. I will never feel that helpless again.

But maybe.. maybe, if I give it enough thought, I would like to think that I made you a better person too. I hope.. I would like to think that if you did what you did for me, for other people around you, that that means you felt something. You were willing to sacrifice everything.. yourself.. for me? There is a beauty in that Sherlock. It is the most amazing thing you could ever do for another person. God dammit my eyes are misting, I can't see the screen properly. You idiot.

So I guess I have to think this one through. The message you left me no doubt is some sort of clue. I will sleep, try and let the idea settle in my head. I keep looking at your chair, I wonder if you sat there. I wonder how much you think of me. I wonder how much it took to stop you from coming to wake me.

I would tell you about my day, but under the circumstances it seems a very dull conversation. I keep going over my little chat with Mycroft though. His last words. The spider is dead but the eggs have yet to hatch? I know that Moriarty must have had a major support network. Is that what your doing? Finding the threads and destroying the eggs? Is there something coming Sherlock? If there is don't leave me behind, I stand by what I say, I would sooner die beside you than sit here helpless.

Anyway you hold the next move, but I won't stop what I'm doing from my side. You can come back or I will come for you.

Anyway, goodnight Sherlock. Whatever you are up-to please be careful. I cannot loose you again. Be safe, please.

JW.


	14. Chapter 14

First many thanks to TSylvestrisA. She is fabulous and helps me so much.

Thank you for all your reviews/adds to faves, I love you. This is a short bridging chapter, but it starts getting seroius next chapter. Been very busy this week. Should have another chapter of my other story 'as the moon orbits the sun always' out this week, so if you are following that, again, sorry for delay.

Chapter 13 - Six weeks and five days after the fall.

The diary of Dr. John Watson.

How can I stay angry with you? You are such a twat but I don't have it in me to stay angry with you. I spent much of last night awake thinking. I had half an ear listening the whole time. I suppose I hoped that you would make a mistake, that you wouldn't be able to stay away, but you don't make mistakes. So I spent the night sat in your chair just thinking. That's why I'm not angry anymore. I considered the position you had put yourself in. I don't know what happened on the roof that day but whatever it was was bad enough for you to do what you did. You must have known that something was going to happen because you must have planned your 'death'. I just remember the look in your eyes the first time we met Moriarty. The confusion and fear when I walked out wrapped in that jacket and you thought for a split second that maybe I was the one that had been playing the game, the thought that I had possibly betrayed you. I also remember the look of fear flashing when that little red spot appeared on me, the utter fury that you hid so well that night. I think you would have killed that night because of me. You were so offended that someone had dared to threaten me, I realize that you think that I belong to you. Part of me wants to rant at you for that but I can't. I thought on that for a long time last night and as much as I am my own man the thought that you think that fills me with warmth because surely, my friend, it means that you care for me. I just see in my minds eyes the image of you ripping that bomb off me, and I remember the relief in your eyes.

"People will talk." I said.

"They do little else."

I also recall Moriarty talking about your heart. It is hazy as I had a bomb strapped to me and I was somewhat distracted at the time but he was telling you that actually maybe you do have a heart. I can't help but think that he was right and I also think he knew it well enough to use it against you. Maybe I flatter myself with all of this but I don't care. There is one thing I need to know Sherlock, am I still in danger? Is Mrs. Hudson? Lestrade? You have to tell me Sherlock, I don't know if it will be enough to stop me but I will know to be careful at least?

I was thinking about the people who had moved in across the street. The assassins. Two have gone now but I know one is still around. I keep thinking that maybe that is my next move. I need to find out what it was they wanted and more importantly why it was they insisted on saving your life. Surely that is against almost everything they stand for? Yes, tomorrow I will go over there.

Right now I am going to see Molly for a drink. I need to talk to her, need someone to talk to. Maybe if we talk for long enough she will open up a little more but I don't mind. I just need someone right now Sherlock.

Later you big git.

JW.

(new entry)

John, you're drunk. Don't do it. SH.


End file.
